Memories of the Lost
by NeePanda
Summary: While Balin tells the Company about the Battle of Azanulbizar, Thorin recalls the events that happened after the sorrowful victory. My first fanfiction. I hope you enjoy! Bad summary is bad.


It had been a long day of travelling for Thorin Oakenshield's Company. It had not been very long since they set out from their burglar's home on their journey to the Lonely Mountain. The company had stopped to rest on a cliff. All of the members of the company rested near the fire. Many of them were already asleep and snoring loudly while the rest whispered amongst themselves quietly.

Thorin rested against a large boulder, sighing softly. He had been exhausted from the day's travels. The king-in-exile was glad to finally have a moment to himself to relax. He quickly made himself comfortable and closed his eyes, hoping to fall asleep. However, the company's peace broke when a shriek pierced the night. "What was that?" the small hobbit questioned as he looked around worriedly. The screech had awoken the sleeping dwarves, who were scrambling to sit up and search their surroundings.

"Orcs," Kili had said. Thorin sat up straight as his nephews began to speak, a chill running down his spine. He barely heard their voices, but he knew they were trying to scare their buglar. His mind wandered to the bloody battlefield littered with bodies of orcs and his comrades, to the Pale Orc raising his grandfather's head, and to the grief the battle had caused.

He was brought back to reality when he heard his nephews laughing. Thorin's blood boiled in his veins as he stood up and stormed over to the fire, glaring at his nephews. "You think this is funny..? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?" His nephews immediately looked down as he reprimanded them."We didn't mean anything by it," Kili mumbled softly, knowing that they had upset their uncle.

Thorin shook his head as he scoffed softly "Of course you didn' know nothing of the world." He walked away, heading towards the edge of the cliff and ignoring the concerned looks of the older members of his company. He stopped once he heard Balin try to soothe his nephews. Thorin knew he had been harsh on his nephews, but he shook off the thought as his mind began to wander. He could remember the bloody and sorrowful victory well, as though it had happened yesterday.

The young dwarf prince walked over the bodies of his enemies and his comrades, silently surveying the destruction and death that had blanketed the entrance to Moria. He kept his composure as he and the other survivors searched through corpses to find any other living dwarves. It had not been long since the battle had finally ended in the dwarves' favor, but no one could even think of celebrating their victory. They had lost so many of their people, including the King and his heir. Thorin suppressed a shudder as he remembered the Pale Orc throwing his grandfather's head down towards his feet. It was a sight he would never forget. The young prince looked around at each dwarf left standing. He felt relieved that his good friends, Balin and Dwalin, appeared to be relatively uninjured. He sighed as he began to search through the bodies of his comrades, knowing that they had a long day of searching ahead of them.

He had not been searching long when Thorin found him, lying in a pool of his own blood. His body was mangled beyond repair. The golden-haired dwarf coughed softly, blood trickling down his mouth and staining his long beard. The sight of this dwarf caused Thorin to freeze in his steps. This was his sister's husband, the father of his sister-son. "It cannot be," Thorin whispered to himself as he quickly moved to his comrade's side, kneeling down by him as the prince realized that the injured dwarf was alive, but just barely. "Sagnus!" The injured dwarf stirred, his eyes searching for Thorin's face. Thorin stared at his friend hopefully before glancing around frantically as he cried out, "I need a healer! Quickly!"

Sagnus looked up at the dwarven prince, a weak smile slowly forming on his face. "Thorin, my friend," he said as he searched his friend's face worriedly, "you are not hurt..?"  
Thorin quickly shook his head. "I am alright, Sagnus. Don't speak, just save your energy." He quickly looked around to see if any healers were responding to his plea before trying to call for help again. He couldn't let this dwarf die. His sister was only weeks away from having her second child and she needed Sagnus now more than ever.  
His sister's husband, however, stared at him grimly, his face grimacing in pain for a moment. "Thorin, it is no use," he rasped. Thorin looked down at Sagnus in shock, not wanting to believe his words. "I won't make it..." The young prince shook his head slowly and opened his mouth to speak, but was promptly interrupted. "We've won the war... I've done my duty for my people just as-" The injured dwarf coughed wetly, more blood beginning to trail down his chin and stain his golden beard.  
The prince watched as Sagnus sputtered and choked. "Sagnus, no. Don't say this. You'll be alright, you have to be! For my sister, and your son!" Thorin said frantically. He couldn't come to terms with the fact that his friend was dying.  
Sagnus sighed shakily once his coughing fit had ended and stared up at his wife's brother with determination, "You must take care of them for me and protect them. Promise me this..." Thorin quickly shook his head and started to call for another healer before Sagnus attempted to raise his voice. "Promise me." He wheezed softly, unable to get enough air to speak above a whisper.  
Thorin looked down at his friend, falling silent for a moment before speaking, his voice cracking faintly with emotion. "I will... I promise, Sagnus. I will watch over them in your stead. You have my word." The injured dwarf nodded slightly and smiled weakly as his eyes fell shut, his chest falling for the last time. Thorin closed his eyes and bowed his head, vaguely murmuring a blessing in Khuzdul. Sagnus was in the Halls of Aulë, now. Dís and Fíli would be devastated when they heard the news. He would be the one to tell them what had happened on the battlefield, though he knew he couldn't bear to see their reactions. The young prince stood after a moment of mourning and continued on with his search for survivors.  
He heard someone frantically call out to him after a few minutes of searching. Thorin turned his gaze and noticed Balin, whose face was wet with fresh tears as he faced Thorin. "Balin?" he asked as he slowly approached his friend. "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" Balin stared at Thorin sadly and opened his mouth to speak, but was only able to let out a soft sob and shake his head. Thorin watched as his friend struggled to compose himself , silently urging him to speak.  
"Thorin... It's Frerin," the grey-haired dwarf finally managed to say. He watched as the young prince's eyes widened and scanned the area, trying to find his brother's face among the surviving dwarves. Thorin's breathing began to pick up as he continued to search. His eyes eventually landed on Balin again, who could only look away.  
The dwarf prince stared at Balin nervously. Thorin tried to remember the last time he saw his younger brother. He remembered seeing him fight alongside his grandfather, but he had lost track of him once Azog had beheaded the king. His own anger and hatred for the Pale Orc had made him forget to lookout for his brother. Thorin inhaled shakily as he tried to calm his nerves before speaking. "Where is he?" He paused for several moments, narrowing his eyes when Balin refused to answer and grabbing the dwarf by his shoulders. "Balin, where is he?! Where is my brother?!"  
Balin's eyes met Thorin's for a moment as he said, "I'm sorry, laddie. I'm so sorry..." The small dwarf stepped to the side. The dwarf prince stared at Balin before he noticed a limp body behind his friend. From this distance, Thorin could see that the dwarf had been quite young, but due to the damage done to his face it was hard to tell who he was. The young dwarf unconsciously pushed his friend to the side as he approached the corpse, gasping softly as he noticed the familiar black hair and short beard that nearly mirrored his own. Frerin, Thorin's younger brother, had fallen.  
Thorin barely heard himself as he cried out for his brother. He could no longer hear the other dwarves or see the battlefield around him. All he could see was Frerin, lying dead amongst the bodies of several dwarves and orcs. He fell to his knees and picked up his brother, holding him against his chest as tears sprang to his eyes. Thorin couldn't care less if the other dwarves saw him cry. He could clearly remember the day his little brother had been born. He remembered how much trouble they would both get in, but he had always been there to get Frerin out of it.

As he held his brother's cold body, Thorin realized he would never be able to see his brother's bright smile or hear his hearty laughter ever again. The young prince did not want to move from his spot. He knew he would have to return home and tell his younger sister the horrible news, but he could not will his arms to let go of his brother or his legs to stand.

Thorin remained on the battlefield for what felt like a lifetime, cradling his little brother. He felt a hand timidly rest on his shoulder and looked up to see who it belonged to, sighing shakily once he realized it was Balin. "We have to go, laddie. The Orcs will be back soon to take what they can find," he said softly, not wanting to upset the prince further. Thorin stared up at him for a moment, his face still wet with tears as he nodded slightly. He looked back down at his brother for a moment before closing his eyes and setting him down gently, placing his hand on the body's forehead as he murmured, "We will meet again, my brother..."

The dwarf prince stood after a moment and looked over at Balin and nodded slightly placing his hand on his friend's shoulder for a moment as he composed himself before rallying the survivors together before speaking to them. He knew they would have no time to bury all of the dead before the Orcs arrived and the other Houses were reluctant to enter Moria. "Strip the dead. Quickly. We won't allow the Orcs to take anything of value. Balin, Dwalin, take some dwarves with you to cut down trees. We won't be able to bury them all..." Thorin trailed off, staring at his friends sadly before joining the rest of the dwarves to strip the dead of anything useful.

Once they had enough wood, Thorin helped the dwarves set up pyres. While it was normally their custom to bury their dead in stone, he knew that there wouldn't be enough time to bury everyone. Their dead were too many. He helped carry the corpses to the pyres and even carried Sagnus and Frerin to them. He watched as they lit each pyre, immediately turning away once Sagnus's and Frerin's had been lit. He couldn't watch it. After each of the pyres had been lit, he gathered all of the dwarves together and led them back to the Blue Mountains. The young prince glanced back towards the battlefield before leaving, watching as the smoke rose from the pyres. With a final, weary sigh, he tore his eyes away and set his sights on home, knowing that no matter how much he wished, the outcome of the war could not be changed. Sagnus, Frerin, Thror, and his father would not return. They were in the Halls of Aulë.

Thorin turned when he realized Balin had finished retelling their victory at Moria. All of the dwarves in the company had stood up and were staring at him. Balin and Dwalin stared at him apologetically, knowing that their king disliked remembering what had happened during the Battle of Azanulbizar. The younger dwarves, excluding his nephews, stared at Thorin in awe. He looked at each of his companions, including Gandalf and Bilbo. He vowed that he would protect each of them. He would not allow them to die if he could do something to save them. Thorin did not want the same grief and sorrow he had seen after the Battle for Moria to happen again if he could prevent it.

He would protect each of his companions with his life.


End file.
